Fascination
by Constance Bonacieux
Summary: A Sheriarty one-shot for the Sherlock secret santa gift exchange. Moriarty kidnaps an American actor, and Sherlock has to find him.


**A/N: This is a Sherlock secret santa present for magpie-mind on Tumblr. Hope you like it! I tried my best writing Sheriarty, but I haven't really read any fics with that pairing, so I wasn't exactly sure what the norm is. I tried my best, though! Happy holidays!**

**The cosplay picture used for the cover image is courtesy of nicodiver on deviantart. I really wish you could insert links into stories, but since you can't, the link to the original photo can be found on my profile.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or anything else mentioned in here.**

* * *

Jim Moriarty was simply _fascinating_.

Sherlock, although he tried to appear cold and professional towards the man, found most of his time occupied with speculations on him. He was constantly surmising what the criminal would do next and always eagerly examined the scene of any crime that was suspected to be perpetrated by him (or one of his men). It was hardly his fault; Moriarty was the first man he'd met (besides his brother, who hardly counted) that had mental capacities matching his own. Such an anomaly was an entirely new experience to Sherlock, and therefore was an object of his curiosity.

Sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder what would have been the outcome if they had met earlier in their lives. Would they have bonded and become close? Would Sherlock have been drawn into a life of crime? Surely, Moriarty and he would have made an unstoppable pair. Put both of their intellect together and no one would have been able to prevent the destruction they would have caused. On the other hand, perhaps Sherlock would have driven Moriarty away from a life of crime and into the light. They might have both become consulting detectives. Either way, they would have been insurmountable together. As it were, they had _not_ met earlier in life, and they were _not_ an unbeatable team. As it were, Sherlock had grown up alone, cultivating his mental capacities and doing his best to annoy his older brother.

As it were, Sherlock found Moriarty to be fascinating.

He was ecstatic, therefore, when his phone buzzed with a message from Lestrade, accompanied soon after with the address of a well-known hotel in the middle of London. _There's been a kidnapping_, the message read. _We think Moriarty might be behind it_. Sherlock's heart raced with excitement. He vaulted off the couch and called for John. His coat was quickly donned, and John joined him as he left the flat, calling for a taxi.

* * *

"Thanks for coming, Sherlock," Lestrade greeted when the pair arrived.

As per usual, Sherlock ignored his comment. "Tell me everything you know, significant and otherwise."

Rolling his eyes at John, Lestrade complied. He explained that the kidnapped man was an American actor on vacation. He had checked into the hotel around nine in the evening, and the security tapes showed that he had showered quickly before climbing in to bed. From that point on, the video feed had been tampered with, and there was no information on what had happened until 6:00AM, when the cameras started working again. During that time, the man had disappeared and the only evidence they had been able to find was a ransom note that had been placed on the bed.

"Let me see it," Sherlock immediately insisted.

Lestrade handed him the paper. It looked like something out of a cartoon: the letters of the note were a hodgepodge of letters cut out of a magazine. As they had been taken from various pages (and possibly multiple magazines), they were a variety of colors and sizes, all spelling out the simple message of 'Bring £1,000,000 to the London Eye by 12 o'clock tomorrow night, or I kill Mr. Robert Downey Jr.' Sherlock took his time examining the paper and the letters, much to the annoyance of Lestrade.

"The man's lawyers say they could pay the money, but we have no guarantee that it would keep Moriarty from killing the man anyway."

Sherlock continued to ignore him and continued to examine the ransom note.

"You _do_ know we're working on a deadline here, Sherlock," he prompted impatiently.

The consulting detective rolled his eyes and handed back the note. "I am well aware, Lestrade. I also know that the hostage is not being held in England, and is most likely in France. Probably in the Ile-de-France region."

The Detective Inspector was dumbfounded. "How on _Earth_ could you know that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and replied only when John insisted. "The letters on the ransom note are most distinctive. See how the bottom of the 'c' and the tops of some of the 'e's are cut quite close to the letter? The accents on the letters were cut off. The only language that frequently uses circonflexe accents as well as aigu is the French language. Now, take a look at the paper. I wouldn't expect you to know this, but the little symbol on the bottom right corner on the back? That's the brand marking of a particular type of paper, which is sold primarily in Paris, as well as certain areas in Senegal. I don't expect that Moriarty, if this is his work, would have brought him as far as Africa."

Both John and Lestrade stared at him in wonder. "That's brilliant!" John finally exclaimed.

Sherlock shrugged, before lowering himself onto the floor. He carefully inspected the carpet, carefully running his fingers over a few patches. After a moment, he carefully placed a couple small clumps of dirt into small plastic bags, and sprung up.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to conduct some experiments."

* * *

Back in the lab, Molly peered over Sherlock's shoulder as he examined the dirt he had brought from the hotel room.

"How's it going, Sherlock?" she asked him after a few moments of awkward silence.

Ignoring her, he adjusted the zoom on the microscope. "Could you hand me that microscope slide?" She sighed before complying.

He placed the slide under the microscope and peered through the eyepiece. _Interesting_, he thought. _This soil has a higher concentration of silicone than the other sample I picked up. I haven't seen anything like it around London…Now where have I seen soil like this…_ His brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to remember. _Ah yes! It was in Paris, in the Champs de Mars! Beside the Eiffel Tower!_

He jumped up from his stool, shouted a goodbye over his shoulder to Molly, and raced out of the lab.

Hailing a taxi, he debated whether or not he should send a text to John or Lestrade. They were probably still at the crime scene. After a moment of deliberation, he decided against it. If it really was Moriarty, then he didn't want to drag anyone else into danger. No, it was better he handle this one on his own.

* * *

A cab pulled up to the curb, and he jumped inside. To the cabbie, he urged, "The airport, and quick!"

Still weary from the long plane ride across the Channel, Sherlock made his way across the long, green expanse of the Champs de Mars. Young couples wove their way through the beautiful park, gazing lovingly into their partners' eyes. The grass extended like a large green blanket in front of him, leading up to the large monument at the other side of the park. Even Sherlock had to admit wonder at finally seeing the famous structure in real life. He walked towards it slowly, looking around him for any sign of his familiar enemy or the lost actor.

Suddenly, his arm was entwined by a stranger's. Feigning nonchalance, Sherlock turned his head to look at his partner. He wasn't incredibly surprised to discover that it was Moriarty.

"Why, hello, Sherlock," the man greeted with a sly grin on his face.

"Where's Robert?" he interrogated bluntly.

"Oh, he's safe. I gave orders for Sebby to let him go in a few hours, regardless of whether or not we were paid. He's still in that hotel, as I'm sure you were able to deduce."

The consulting detective was unable to conceal the surprise on his face.

Moriarty grinned with glee. "You didn't figure it out, did you? I won!" he taunted in a sing-song voice. Sherlock frowned in annoyance. "I bet you don't even know why I led you here."

Unable to come up with an answer, even as his mind raced at hyper speed, Sherlock was forced to shake his head in the negative.

"Oooo, I have got you stumped, haven't I?" he practically squealed with delight. He turned to face Sherlock, suddenly serious. "I brought you here because we are having dinner together on the Eiffel Tower." He turned again to lead Sherlock to the tall, ornate structure.

Sherlock's brow once again furrowed in confusion. Dinner? Surely he didn't mean like… "A date?"

The spider of a man grinned devilishly. "Now you're getting it!"

The consulting detective let himself be led along, secretly reveling in the fact that Moriarty was still holding on to his hand.

_A date, hm? Well, this might be interesting. I guess I'll give it a shot._

_After all, Jim Moriarty _is_ quite fascinating._

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, I know, I really suck with endings. and descriptions. Well, you can just use your imagination. :) Haha, the soil and paper parts were kinda half-assed. Oh well. Hope you like it, Mags!**


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